


Trophy Boyfriend

by catmanu



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, M/M, Macdeau, Weird psychology, You haven't been paying attention, dependence is a thing, if you think this has a happy ending, this shouldn't have as much porn as it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-25 00:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 11,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20023519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: After a series of life changes, none of them positive, Justin and Emmanuel feel like they have little left but each other.  In a tiny apartment in Paris, they both try to build a new life.What if there is a future where they can be together every day, forever?





	1. Trophy Boyfriend (I)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of my mind imagining a future where Justin is Emmanuel's "trophy boyfriend." Because he kind of would be a perfect trophy boyfriend, wouldn't he? A fic about such a future could easily go the fluffy route, but my mind went this way instead.
> 
> This fic was also inspired by the idea of the intercalary chapter, which is a shorter chapter (or chapters) in between longer ones that don't necessarily propel the plot but do provide more information. They're good for helping to set the mood of a story. I played with that idea here somewhat.

Manu’s hair is starting to go a little grey.It’s slight, but more noticeable than when he was still President.

Justin’s hair is still exactly the same.It’s dark and full and even though Manu wishes he’d grow it out more, like he’d had it before he was PM, he still looks just as young as he always did.

He guesses that’s why he’s the trophy boyfriend.


	2. Hold The Line

They’ve filled their empty living room with as many bookshelves as they could fit, but now they have the challenge of organizing everything.

“You know…” Manu says.It’s so strange to see him in shorts and an Olympique de Marseille jersey.Justin had always wondered if Manu even _knew_ how to dress casually.“This might be the toughest challenge of our lives.Running a country?Nothing compared to organizing these books.”

“You dork,” Justin says, and gives him a little shove.And a kiss on top of his fluffy-haired head.“Only _you_ would say that seriously.”

The blue-and-white jersey goes so well with his eyes that it’s going to be distracting.

“Yes.Only I would.And you won’t regret it when you’re trying to find something.I always kept my things disorganized, but…”

“But you’ve started a new _chapter_ of your life.Ha, ha, ha.”Justin can’t resist a pun, and after his sarcastic laughter he laughs for real. _Whoops._

“That was dreadful.How do you want to organize them?Genre?Author?…Size?Color?I know you like a good aesthetic.”

“Oh, I don’t know.Let’s start with alphabetical.It’s easier.”He grabs Manu by the OM jersey and pulls him close.“You’re so beautiful in this shirt that you’re distracting me,” he murmurs against Manu’s lips.

“How do you think I feel around you now that I’m with you every second?Every hour?Every day?Every—”

“Okay, we need to _stop_ , or else these books will be in boxes forever.”Justin gets a fantastic idea.“We need music to wake us up.I have some great Spotify playlists.I use them to get, you know.Pumped up.”

Manu sighs and shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he opens the first box of books.“What damage are you going to inflict upon my ears today?”

Justin’s opening up his laptop, pulling up Spotify.“How about…’Underrated 80s Hits?’’

“Maybe they’re underrated for a good reason, did you ever think about that?”

“Shut up.”The first to come on is Roam, by the B-52s.Justin pulls some books out of the box.This is a Manu’s books box.

“I’m sure I’ve heard this song at least once.Should it really count as obscure in any way if _I’ve_ heard it?”

“Manu.Get to work, you snob.”And he pretends to hit Manu with a huge hardcover first edition, but slips it onto the top shelf instead.He’s 6’2”; he can reach it easily.Manu will need him.

They’re a well-oiled machine right away.Unsurprisingly.They love each other.They’re _in_ love with each other.They’re _good_ together and they’re listening to fun music and they’re happy, they’re happy.They’re so happy.The shelves are filling up.An old favorite of Justin’s from when he was a kid comes on.

“What’s _this?_ The guitars are quite…aggressive.”

“It’s, uh.Hold The Line, by Toto.They did that other song that was a meme a while back…Africa…You know…Or maybe you don’t.”

“The second one.I don’t.And the guitars are _aggressive_.”

But by the end of the chorus he’s singing along with Justin, and he can’t really carry a tune but it’s not terrible.In fact, it’s perfect, so perfect that Justin shoves one of the half-empty boxes aside and picks Manu up and spreads him out on the floor.They don’t even have a rug or anything, yet, but sometimes no one has time to make it to the couch.

“Manu.I _want_ you,” he whispers.

“And I want to finish the bookshelves.”The blue eyes and pink lips work together in unison to flash him an award-winning smirk.

“No, you don’t.”Justin reaches into Manu’s shorts.“Yeah, you definitely don’t give a shit about the bookshelves.”He shoves Manu’s shorts down.Manu helps.

“It’s obvious that you don’t, either.Look at y—“Justin kisses him hard before he can comment further on the state of the front of his pants.He licks Manu’s tongue like he’s a sloppy teenager. _Hold the line!Love isn’t always on time!_ Toto’s words are wise.Love should be on time more often.But better late than never, Justin thinks.He and Manu should have been together ages ago, but here they are today.

He wiggles out of his jeans, briefly getting tangled in the legs, and pushes Manu’s shirt up enough to allow him to kiss down the trail of hair below his belly button.Manu’s stomach is flatter than it had been in the past.It’s been rough.He hasn’t been eating much.But this will all change.

“Justin, you are a dream.”Manu’s voice is already weak.

Justin moves to straddle Manu’s hips and grabs Manu to jerk him off and Manu tangles their arms together to do the same to him. Justin’s mouth gapes.

“Wait, no.Together, let’s do it together—”

Manu is the dream.But, wait.That’s not it.It’s the world around them that no longer matters.Even the waiting boxes of books don’t matter, not right now.Their love is the reality.

Their hands clasp their cocks together and they move in unison, sloppy like their kisses.It’s over, it’s over.Their professionalism is over.Manu is startlingly loud underneath him as they rub together, finding the friction they always find.Quiet Manu is over.The Power Of Love, by Huey Lewis and the News, comes on.It’s a song for nerdy dads, sure, but it’s also wise, because nothing is more powerful than Manu’s love, _nothing._

They are sweating in Europe’s lack of air conditioning and their slick palms help them to finish all over each other faster.Justin puts his hand over Manu’s mouth at the end.Manu bites him.They will need a shower.The books will have to wait.

They can wait forever, Justin thinks, stroking Manu’s relaxed postcoital face admiringly with his bitten palm.There’s no rush anymore.


	3. I

They spend their mornings like they spend their nights.It doesn’t matter that their bodies really should be too old for all this.They leave their sheets sweaty and stained, they kick their blanket onto the floor because they’re sweating so much they don’t need more heat.Justin learns how to use his teeth just the right amount and he bites Manu’s chest and shoulders and the thin skin on his neck and cradles him close as he easily slips into him.“You’re perfect,” Manu gasps whenever Justin bites.“You’re _perfect_.”

He wakes up tasting like Manu and isn’t too self-conscious to roll over and kiss him good morning despite having a mouth that tastes so _intimately_ of the night before. He tastes himself on Manu’s tongue and lips when he does, anyway, and doesn’t blush as much anymore.And they cuddle—they _cuddle_ —for hours, sometimes, lying there chest to chest, face to face, hands entwined, talking.They finally have time to talk. 

Once they get up and shower Justin makes Manu breakfast.Brunch.Late lunch.The time of day they finally manage to untangle themselves from each other varies quite a bit.Manu can’t cook, so he responsibly does the cleanup, and then they go off on their own.After being inside all day Justin needs to move, and while he’s out jogging in the heat getting stared at by half the people he runs by, he barely thinks about the past. _Manu Manu Manu Manu_ he thinks instead, every time his feet hit the pavement.He’ll stop to buy his perfect man flowers and resents having to stay still long enough to pay. _Manu Manu Manu Manu._

When he gets back glowing, soaked in sweat, Manu asks him how his run was like it’s the most important thing in the world.

This is what it’s like to be valued.It’s like after everything, he’d forgotten the feeling.


	4. II

Manu’s acquaintances, or friends, or _whatever_ they are here in Paris are not his type of person.To him they all seem like the stereotype of a French intellectual.Sometimes he imagines them wearing berets and holding baguettes under their arms and laughs to himself, but he only laughs sometimes, because honestly, they _suck._

They sit around these apartments overflowing with books and call it a _salon_ , sometimes, only half-kidding, and drink wine and talk about books and philosophy and politics, all kinds of things.They stare at Justin like he’s an outsider.Even though there’s always room next to Manu for him on the couch.Even though Manu always has an arm around him, or a hand in his, and smiles at everything he says.

Sometimes they’ll get a certain kind of drunk and start reciting poetry.This is a thing Justin can do.He’s been doing it since he was a kid.Dad taught him well.Of everything Dad taught him, this is one thing he’s held onto.And he’ll recite poems with the best of them.

You never forget your favorites, and _The Highwayman_ is his favorite.It’s more exciting and scandalous than Manu’s friends’ poems, anyway, and he can do dramatic voices and act the whole thing out.Manu always appreciates it, especially the thrilling, chilling ending:

_And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,_

_When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,_

_When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,_

_A highwayman comes riding—_

_Riding—riding—_

_A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door._

_Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard._

_He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred._

_He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there_

_But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,_

_Bess, the landlord’s daughter,_

_Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair._

“You should grow your hair longer…” Manu says afterward, as he often does.“Plait a love-knot into it for me, hmmmm?”And he laughs and squeezes Justin’s hand extra hard.

No one else seems into it.Because seriously, they _suck._ At least they’ve never said anything about his past, but he’s always on edge, waiting for it.

Nothing feels better than leaving, kissing Manu earnestly before they walk out into the street, heading home where he’s always appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin has said "[The Highwayman](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43187/the-highwayman)" is one of his favorite poems, and it's pretty cool. I mean, I'd appreciate it if I heard him recite it, just saying.


	5. 2022

_It all moved so fast._

_Winning a second term by the skin of his teeth, and only because Gerry came back to help.He’d tried his best on his own, but the world in 2019 was a cynical place.No one wanted his sunny ways.And no one had time for his fuckups._

_Wasn’t there a time when most people had patience?When people were kind, just like he was?_

_Or were Canadians just measuring him up to Dad once again?Once a-fucking-gain?He’d never win if that was the case.He could never come close._

_But God (and Canadians) gave him a second chance in 2019.And he was going to make it right, make it all right.His juggling act, trying to keep the environmentalists and the corporations hungry for Canada’s resources up in the air all at once.His difficulties communicating with First Nations activists.China’s pissing contests.Pipelines, pipelines, pipelines.That damn ‘peoplekind’ remark—why did he ever even try to be funny?Jaspal fucking Atwal and the whole India debacle.Not one person wanted to cut him some slack about that.He was only human.A Prime Minister was human too.He was just doing his best in a wild, unpredictable world.He’d start his second term by scheduling more town halls.He was good at those.And people used them to take photos of his butt, which, well.He knew what kind of reception that got.He wore his tightest pants to his town halls for a reason._

_*_

_Lavalin.It all came down to fucking Lavalin._

_The leaked recordings, the allegations.The exposes.Revelations coming out left and right, the company’s unsavory doings just piling on and on and on and on…What was he supposed to do?He went into politics to make the world a better place, to do good things and to feel people’s warmth and love and acceptance and then Lavalin erupted and…What else was he supposed to fucking do?_

_Sophie kept asking him how much he knew, how much of this was really true, how good was he at hiding things from her, and in that case, what else had he been hiding from her?What else, Justin?_

_*_

_He did the right thing for Canada and resigned._

_Désolé, Papa.I’m sorry.I’m sorry._

* 

_I’m in love with someone else, Sophie.But I still care about you, I—I’ve—I’ve been.I’ve been, umm, cheating.For a few years._

_With Emmanuel._

_Yes, Brigitte knows.He—he told her.A while ago._

_I’m sorry, Sophie.I’m so—_

_*_

_The youngest said he would kill all of Canada with his light saber because they were so mean.It broke his heart that a child of his would ever say such a violent thing, and all because of him._

_The older two didn’t say much as he finished boxing up his stuff.The moving truck was arriving in a half-hour.He took them for ice cream._

_I’m staying here in Montreal, you know. You're old enough to take the Metro to my new place if you want, if Mom says it's okay. Our lawyers are working out which days you’ll be staying with me._

_We know, Dad.It’s like…everywhere online.They know everything about you before we do._

_Yeah, Dad, that douchebag Ezra Levant, he talks about it like every day, he says Mom wants full custody because you covered bad stuff up and you cheated.He says she’ll get it.Does she want that, Dad?_

_Why are you listening to anything that piece of shit says?Sorry, I’m sorry.Whoops.But seriously, guys.Don’t give him the hits._

_Outside the ice cream shop people screamed things at him.Bad things._

_Can’t you see my kids are here?Can you please be respectful in front of my kids?Thank you, thank you. Please be respectful, please._

_Canadians were always such decent people.What had he done?_

_Inside it was peaceful and he told the kiddos they could get whatever they wanted, if they wanted four scoops they could have four scoops, if they wanted the chocolate-dipped waffle cones with sprinkles, they could have those too._

_There were tears in his oldest’s eyes as he stared hard at the familiar list of flavors._

_They both looked so quietly betrayed._

_Levant, that nasty white supremacist piece of shit, was probably right about him._

_*_

_He’d been this depressed before.At least this time he was able to stay away from alcohol.Pizza, not so much.Pizza and the French election._

_His Manu was campaigning hard.He missed him so much there were no words—in English or in French—for the pain.But Manu’s ability to support these days was limited.He did what he could, but he had to focus on the campaign.Justin understood._

_He was so grateful for the 24-hour news cycle that had ruined so much about mankind.Peoplekind, ha ha ha.There was always something about Manu. And if he couldn’t sleep at 2 am, well, they were talking about him in India or someplace.It soothed him just to look at the photos.His eyes, his nose, his fluffy hair, his nice blue suits. Manu. Always solid and steady, always the same._

_When Manu won he’d take a trip to Paris for the inauguration ceremony.They’d find some time to spend together.They’d celebrate his reelection with champagne and kisses and triumphant, liberated sex._

_*_

_The world was changing so much.The world was soulless and cruel in 2022, growing exponentially worse between his resignation and now.Good couldn’t win._

_Manu lost._

_*_

_Then Brigitte dumped him._

_*_

_The paparazzi swarmed. The 24-hour news cycle blossomed with photos of the far-right rejoicing.The world was sick.It was fucked.Manu and the dark circles underneath his eyes went on TV.He talked so stoically, so intelligently, about what it meant to lose and how he envisioned the future of France.But he saw on Manu’s face what it cost to be so exposed, so defeated, so abandoned.It hurt.It hurt him enough to pick up the phone._

_*_

_I would have voted for you a million times, and not just because I’m progressive and care about the environment.You know that, my kitten.I think you’re perfect.And you should have w—_

_No, I’m not trying to console you.I just called because…I don’t know.I miss you.And I feel like I have nothing._

_Did we—did we just have the same thought?_

_Yes, yes, yes.Yes.Holy sh—this is what I always wanted.Yes!_

_You find us a place._

_No, it doesn’t need to have room for a treadmill.You little shit._

_I love you._


	6. III

Justin joins a fancy gym a few blocks from their apartment, for rainy days and weight training.There, people mostly leave him alone.Their funny looks follow him everywhere, but in the technical sense of the word, no one bothers him. 

Somewhere in the gym there’s always a TV with the news on.Justin had thought that blasting TVs were an American thing, but maybe that’s not true, or maybe this particular gym exists just to torture him and he should find a new one.

There’s always something about Manu being discussed.But Manu isn’t president anymore.Sure, he’s still relevant.People care about his thoughts.But overall, he really should be out of the spotlight.He’s writing and reading and catching up on things and catching up on _love._ They should leave him alone.And the more Manu’s on the TV, the more people stare at Justin.

It can get even worse.Sometimes when his feet are pounding firmly on the treadmill or he’s lifting the weights that are getting easier and easier to lift, _his_ face shows up on the news. _No…_ he thinks. _No, no, leave me the fuck alone!_ DISGRACED EX-PM.Why do people still _care_ about the disgraced ex-PM?When will it stop?

When this happens he’ll jog home in the cold rain.Maybe the cold will make it stop, he thinks, but it never does.Manu is all that can make it stop.


	7. Dignity

His middle name is Pierre—his dad was Pierre, for fuck’s sake—and his brother was Michel, and yet he can’t get over how many of these pretentious friends of Manu’s have such...French names. It makes them even more insufferable.

As a name, Emmanuel stands out. It’s different, it’s noble. Biblical. So very much like his Manu. Why does he hang out with these guys?

Tonight they’re at whose place? Henri’s? Justin feels like he’s losing his grip on his people skills, which have always been such an important part of his identity. He can barely remember this guy’s name.

They’re talking about Rimbaud. Justin can recite some Rimbaud. He does. In the French original, because he belongs here too. Manu wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t.

_Jadis, si je me souviens bien, ma vie était un festin où s'ouvraient tous les cœurs, où tous les vins coulaient._

_Un soir, j'ai assis la Beauté sur mes genoux. Et je l'ai trouvée amère. Et je l'ai injuriée._

_Je me suis armé contre la justice._

_Je me suis enfui. Ô sorcières, ô misère, ô haine, c'est à vous que mon trésor a été confié!_

“Not bad for a Québécois,” is the general consensus.

“I’ll take it,” Justin says, grinning, but the stigma infuriates him as it always has.

Eventually the topic changes from Rimbaud to more personal matters, and Manu is getting more physical, his hand skimming over Justin’s and squeezing and squeezing and playing with his fingers. Justin squeezes back. He’s the luckiest guy in the room, even if his French does come straight out of Montreal.

“So, Justin, what have _you_ been doing in Paris these days?” 

“Uhhh, you know. Exploring, putting the finishing touches on our apartment. Becoming less of a tourist here.” He smiles, looking for smiles in return. “It’s been amazing getting to know my new home.”

“And he’s been running,” Manu blurts out, leaning forward in the intense way that he has. “Have you _seen_ him run?He could outrun every single one of you.”Manu is drunk.Too much of whatever the fuck they’re serving.Justin had had a polite glass of wine.

“You can look up photos,” Manu continues, groping for Justin’s thigh and squeezing it.“I used to, but now I’m lucky enough to have the real thing next to me. I used to have a whole folder of photos.” He kisses Justin wetly on the cheek. The way he gets when he’s had too much to drink, Justin is surprised it wasn’t on the lips.

“Oh, don’t look up photos of me,” Justin chimes in.“You might find some bad things instead.”He laughs.Nervously.

“Bad things?Like obstruction of justice?Other legal mishaps and cover-ups?”

“Exactly, that all was in the international news, Justin,” says their nameless host, smirking. “It’s not a secret.”

Justin stands up, his fists clenched.He hasn’t been in the ring for quite some time, but he’ll never, _never_ be afraid to fight for what’s right.In this case, his dignity.If it still exists.He won’t let it die in this fucking apartment.

“You’re not being very welcoming!” he yells.

Manu squeezes his calf.“Justin.It’s okay.Please calm down.”

Sophie always used to say the same thing. “No, I mean it.How _dare_ you speak to me that way?I was _prime minister,_ I—Get the fuck up and _fight_ me!”

If the guy had gotten up, or even just told him to fuck off, that would have been somehow okay.But he just sits back and continues smirking like the smug Parisian intellectual stereotype that he is.

“You could do better than this, Emmanuel.Justin is a fucking child, and the entire world knows it.Why are you wasting your time with him?”

Justin can’t hear Manu’s response because he’s crossing the room, standing right in the guy’s space.At his height he is surely imposing.“Fuck you, I was _Prime Minister!”_ he screams.“I stood up for what was _right!_ Every day!And what were you?Nothing, you piece of shit.Get up—!”

He feels Manu against him, holding him back.“Justin. _Stop_ it.”

He pushes Manu out of the way and charges out of the apartment, slamming the door.He feels like he’s burning up.Is this how it’s going to be?Is this how everyone will think of him now? _Everyone?_ Everyone except—

Manu, _Manu!_ He bursts through the front door and out onto the street and the cooler air hits him and changes his anger into horrible, dark, despair. 

His legs practically give out.He sinks to the sidewalk.

“Hey, isn’t that Justin Trudeau?That’s definitely Justin Trudeau,” someone walking by says.

He never, ever, _ever_ wants to do anything to Manu but pull him close, close, closer till it feels like they’ve melted together.To kiss his feet, to touch and honor his most intimate parts.To call him _king of my heart, my world, my sweet kitten, baby_.And yet he’s just pushed him aside, disrespected him in front of everyone. So Manu’s friend is right about him.

He makes it home and texts Manu. 

_I’m home.Are you coming back?_

Manu is not immature. He responds right away.

_I’m still here, Justin.I’ll be home later._

Justin flops on top of the tangled sheets on their bed and buries his face in Manu’s pillow.He cries, the sadness coming from somewhere deep within him.Back before everything got bad, he’d sometimes dreamed about living with Manu, being Manu’s for real.It was never like this in his dreams.

He barely hears Manu come in, but when he feels his weight next to him on the bed, he instinctively rolls over to get close.

“You have to be more like me in those circumstances,” Manu says, getting right to it as always.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Your life will be like this.You have to not care.”

“You do care, Manu. When we’re sitting together and we see things about us that aren’t so great online, I feel it.Something changes in you.You care…”

“And so?I don’t show it.I don’t lose my cool and curse at people and threaten to punch them, and neither can you.”

“He doesn’t respect me,” Justin says.His voice cracks.“And I’ve done so much…”

“Oh, Justin…” Manu sighs.“Don’t cry.It’s very difficult for me when you cry…”

He places his hands around Justin’s shoulders and begins rubbing his back.His thumbs are clumsy but Justin hadn’t realized how tense he was and he sags, still sniffling, but relaxing.

“ _I_ respect you, Justin,” Manu says.“You have such a good heart. You’re so beautiful, and there’s just no one like you…All this will pass, you know?That’s how it is in politics.”

“We’re not—in politics—anymore—“ Justin cries.

Manu lies down behind him and puts an arm around his waist.He breathes out slowly.He sounds tired.

“And maybe that’s for the best,” he says, softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin is reciting the first few lines of "Saison en enfer," aka "A season in hell." An English translation is as follows:
> 
> _Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed._  
>  _One evening I took Beauty in my arms – and I thought her bitter – and I insulted her_.  
>  _I steeled myself against justice._  
>  _I fled. O witches, O misery, O hate, my treasure was left in your care!_
> 
> Goth stuff, Justin.


	8. Just come home (I)

He FaceTimes his kids.The little one is angry but then wants to talk about Minecraft.The older two are patient and uncomfortable. 

_We don’t care what they say you did, okay Dad?Can you just come home?_

Justin isn’t sure how to tell them “home” has a different meaning now.Home was always where they were.Now home is here in Paris in the cluttered apartment that smells like Manu, that’s full of his things, that has him in it right now, in fact.He’s sitting on the couch in just his underwear, one foot on the coffee table, writing furiously in a notebook with his headphones on. 

“I miss you three kiddos so much,” he says.“But—I don’t know if I can.”

_You like Emmanuel better than us._

“That’s not true…It’s just that people aren’t being very nice to me right now in Canada. It’s not safe for me to be there.I could never like anyone more than I like you.”

When he hangs up he sinks his head into his hands.He had been so optimistic about this call.Somehow it hadn’t even occurred to him that of course his kids wouldn’t be understanding.Why would they?He was such an idiot sometimes.A dumbass who only rose to such heights because of Dad.

“Hey, Justin…come here.”

He does.He climbs onto the couch and takes Manu into his arms. 

Manu kisses him on the forehead.“I’m sorry about how that went.”

“You could hear?”

“Not really, no, but I can tell.You think I don’t know you…”

As he lies there and holds Manu, he feels the sadness, the defeat draining out of him.He rests his head on Manu’s chest and with each beat of his heart he forgets everything else.

“I’m writing poetry,” Manu whispers.“Would you like to hear it?”

“What’s it about?” Justin murmurs.Between the softness of the hair on Manu’s chest and his steady heartbeat, he feels like he might fall asleep and sleep the whole sad evening off.

“Something different than usual,” Manu says.“I was very inspired today, and I wrote about you.”


	9. Let's go home

The tiny elevator is out again and Manu’s friend’s apartment— _oh, excuse me,the_ _salon_ —is on the fifth floor.The lights in the staircase have to be turned on manually and neither of them bothers to do it.On the fourth-floor landing, Manu stops and stares at Justin.

“Unbutton your shirt a little, Justin.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful…that’s why…”And Manu pushes him against the cold marble wall.All these buildings in Paris are so _cold_ and not in the way Canada in winter is.That’s a kind of cold that feels natural; these buildings don’t.He rises up onto his tiptoes and takes Justin’s face in his soft-gloved hands.He kisses him and kisses him and they kiss each other.Manu’s hands work their way up into Justin’s curls and pull just a bit.Justin once didn’t like this, but he’s gotten used to it. In fact, the sharp, sudden pain sometimes startles him into getting aggressive.He slides his hands under Manu’s armpits and spins him around, pushing him roughly against the wall.

“You’re _beautiful_ …” Manu sighs.

Justin sinks to his knees and frees Manu’s cock from his pants.He wonders if this is what he’d wanted all along.Manu isn’t easy to read, kind of like his favorite books.He gently cups the base and takes it into his mouth, where it hardens fully.And he gets to work.Sloppy work, though.He likes to suck Manu slowly and neatly, drawing it out, but this isn’t the time.And the sloppiness of his sounds seem magnified in the marble staircase.If anyone comes into the building maybe they’ll hear this happening all the way down in the entrance hall with the mailboxes.Justin doesn’t like this, the idea of getting caught.

But this is his Manu he’s doing this with, and he knows him.He pulls his mouth away for a second, letting his hand keep Manu’s cock in position, stroking it so he doesn’t have to break contact with him.

“You know how easy it would be for someone to see us, right?” he asks, and that’s enough to make Manu moan and arch his back against the wall. He puts his hand on the back of Justin’s head and gives it a nudge forward. 

“Fuck,I’m—I’m close,” he says over the sound of Justin sucking in earnest, abandoning all the techniques he’s picked up over the years. He remembers walking in on some sleazy intellectual friend of Manu’s asking _so does your pretty PM suck cock like a pro?_ and Manu’s answer, _Well I don’t think I look dissatisfied, do I?_ But maybe his techniques don’t matter anyway because Manu erupts in an “Oh…fuck!”He reaches down and squeezes Justin’s hands as Justin swallows.

“Well…that was a moment,” Justin says, letting Manu put himself back together.He gets up off the cold floor and rests his head on top of his boyfriend’s.

“Mmmm…”

“Baby…” Justin says.“I kind of feel like going home.Let’s skip this.We can have our own _salon._ ”

“Why…you want your turn?” Manu asks.“You’ll have one, later.I would never let you go without.”He pats between Justin’s legs gently, like a little kiss, but with a hand.Or at least that’s how it feels.

“Please, I know how to wait. I just don’t want to talk to your weird friends with…come breath.”

Manu laughs.“That’s not something any of my _weird friends_ would ever say.Kiss me and then we’ll both have it.”

“Baby. _Please_.Let’s go home.We can read in bed.I’ll do funny voices if you want.”He feels a little whiny.He wants a comfortable Canadian winter evening.“They’re not doing funny voices upstairs.”

Manu smiles sadly.“I told them we’d be there, and it’s important to me to keep my commitments…But tomorrow, okay?I don’t have anything on my schedule.Let’s spend the whole day in bed.We’ll forget the rest of the world…”

He reaches and undoes the top button of Justin’s shirt, and then the next.Even in gloves he doesn’t fumble at all.


	10. Presents

Manu doesn’t care about Christmas.Justin decorates their tiny tree.

“Happy birthday to us…” he sings.

Manu is sprawled on their couch reading something he’d just picked up at a used-book store, or at least that’s what he says he’s doing, but he probably isn’t reading much because whenever Justin turns around he’s staring at him. 

He does what was always his kids’ job and puts the star on top of the tree, and because it was his kids’ job he swallows around the lump in his throat that hurts.Manu will help make that pain go away. He pulls off the old Canada Army Run t-shirt he’d slept in and climbs onto the couch.

“Scratch my back, baby?” he asks, and Manu does.This was the life he’d decided to choose, he remembers.

“Let’s go to midnight mass this year,” Manu says out of nowhere.

“Are you…are you getting _religious_ on me?” 

“Not particularly.I want to sit with you and listen to the beautiful music, I want to sit with you and not have to hide anything anymore.Our love’s public now.Just like any other normal couple.It’s funny, I never knew how much I wanted that.”

“We’re really not a normal couple, and I’m not making out with you in the church, or whatever it is your weird mind is thinking,” Justin says.“I’m too Catholic for that.”Manu scratches in just the right place between his shoulder blades and he breaks out into little goosebumps.

“No, no, when did I say that?”Manu says.He keeps his nails going over those spots, and Justin’s body is tingling and shaking.“I just want to be there with you next to me.Then when we get home it’ll be your birthday, and I’m yours to fuck senseless for the next 24 hours.”

“But we’ll stop to open presents.”

“ _Senseless_ , Justin.To the edge of consciousness.”

As Manu leans forward to cover his back in little kisses, Justin wonders if he’d always been, well, _strange_ like this, or if the changes in their lives had made something a little screwy in his head.How would he have any way of knowing?They’d never been able to spend that much time together before.

Sometimes he hates how he gets hard s _o easily_ when Manu talks like this, when Manu just _exists_ , because when Manu slips his hand under his pants and marvels “yes, sweet thing, yes,” at the state of Justin’s erection, Justin is still thinking, _but we’ll stop to open presents…._


	11. Joyeux anniversaire (I)

Justin expected the 21st of December to be freezing cold.In the past when he’d called Manu from Ottawa to wish him happy birthday, he did it all bundled up, having basically a lifetime of lost faith in Rideau Cottage’s old heating system.But even though the walk back from their friend’s apartment takes an hour and it’s the middle of the night, he leaves his wool coat unbuttoned,his scarf loose around his neck.Even drunk on champagne and things harder, Manu has put on his blue scarf so neatly, just like in all the old official photos.God, but Justin loves him.He loves him so much.

It’s not supposed to be real, this kind of love.

It’s four in the morning by the time they make it home.Manu was born on the shortest day of the year.

“It’s ironic…” he mumbles.“Because you’re the brightest light I’ve got.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, baby.”Manu fumbles with his keys, and sober Justin takes them and opens the door for him.They stumble through it together and Justin hears the sound of something falling.Many somethings falling.“Oh, shit!”

“...s'okay, s'okay,” Manu says, already halfway through the living room.“We’ll fix it tomorrow.I’ll put the food away…”

Justin flips on the light.Their book collection keeps growing.Now they’re in stacks all around the room, under the windowsills and behind the door.Justin always forgets they’re behind the door.He and that particular stack are locked in an eternal battle.Their collection, once so romantically merged, has now separated again, by virtue of the fact that Manu just buys so many _more_ books than he does now.Used books, new books, weird literary journals.It was a compulsion, maybe.

 _At least he reads them_ , Justin thinks, hanging his coat up on its hook.He wants to clean up their living room a bit.As soon as he’d moved in with Manu he’d learned the whole internet was right and that Manu writes everything, _everything_ , by hand.The blue-inked paper is all over the place.He doesn’t use his laptop much.Justin isn’t even sure where it is.

“Justin…Justin…where the hell are you? Justin, where’s my Justin…” Manu sings.He appears.He still hasn’t taken his coat off.Or his scarf.

“You’re still wearing your winter things, you dumbass,” Justin says, lovingly.“C’mere.”He kisses Manu on the top of his head as he unbuttons his coat, unwinds his scarf.He rubs his cheek against Manu’s.The sensation of his occasional day-old beards is still strange to him after so many clean-shaven professional summits.“Let’s get you to bed, birthday boy.Then when we wake up we can have a celebration.”

“Come into the kitchen with me,” Manu says, and in the kitchen Justin sees that Manu has put everything away except the leftover chocolate cake they’d been sent home with.It’s lying uncovered on the counter.JOY AN EMM, says the chunk that’s left.

“Manu, I already had a piece, earlier, I can’t have any more,” he sighs.“And you had what, three pieces, right?You’re going to get a…”He pinches Manu’s stomach, which, he’s pretty sure, is a tiny bit softer than it used to be. 

“I’d like to be terribly irresponsible and have one more before we go to bed,” Manu says. “And, I’d like to enjoy you while I do it.”

Justin drags his nose through the fluffiness of the curling hair at the top Manu’s head.Over and over and over.“If only everyone who thinks you’re some kind of intellectual god could hear you when you’ve had too much to drink…” he murmurs.“You enjoy me every day, you dork.What are you talking about?”

“Take off your clothes and let me look at you…how beautiful you are…”

“Yes?”

“And then I’ll eat my last piece of cake of the night off of you, off of _this…_ ”He strokes Justin’s stomach.“And I’m going to enjoy you, right there on our table.”

“Is that a euphemism?”He pulls off his thick, cream-colored sweater and fluffs his hair out again.Underneath he’s got a thin t-shirt which Manu helps him take off.Manu lets his pants and boxers fall to the floor and walks to get the cake.Justin feels a bit silly and more than a bit scandalous as he sits at the edge of their table.He leaves his briefs on.

“Don’t you think I’ll break the table if I lie on it?”

“Of course not.You only had the one piece of cake, right?You weigh nothing.”Manu is naked, now, cutting a slice of cake into smaller pieces.“I see you’re still wearing something, though.What’s going on?”

“It’s like wrapping paper.But it’s good for the environment.Unwrap your present.”

“Mmmm.I see.”Justin sprawls out.The table doesn’t protest.Manu slides his hand between his legs.“Can I shake it to guess what’s inside?”

“You can do whatever you want.It’s your birthday.” 

Manu gives him a squeeze and a smile and begins to lay the pieces of cake out on Justin’s bare stomach.He hops onto the table—it creaks dangerously and rocks slightly under them—and puts his mouth on the piece that sits just below Justin’s collarbones.This is weird.This is really, really, really weird.His boyfriend is, well… _weird._ But his warm mouth feels good.His tongue feels good.His little happy noises as he enjoys his birthday cake feel good. 

Despite the weirdness, or maybe _because_ of the weirdness, Justin gets hard against Manu’s leg.

Justin can practically feel Manu’s smirk as he notices the state Justin is in, and as he nibbles he massages Justin’s cock through his briefs, steadily, firmly, his thumb and index finger focusing on the tip.Justin groans, trying not to arch too much into Manu’s touch, but it’s difficult.He’s leaking a little into the fabric already.It just feels so good, so good, it’s incredible.Manu hums against his stomach, his tongue tracing over Justin’s skin to catch each crumb.

“Manu, Manu…” They have neighbors, but the walls of old buildings are thick. _“Manu…!_ ”He tries to shove Manu’s hand away.“If you don’t stop…!”

“Okay, Justin.Can I open my present now?”

“Yes,” Justin says, kicking him gently.“ _Please._ ”

Manu hops down off the table and slowly lifts Justin’s briefs up and over his erection.He tosses them to the side and smiles.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look like a Greek god?”

“Actually, you do all the time.”

Manu leans down and flicks his tongue over the tip of his cock.Justin twitches too hard and his breath catches in his throat.“’What did I fucking _say_ about…”

“Couldn’t hear you.”

He gives Manu’s forehead a well-practiced shove.“Get the _lube,_ you weirdo.”

“What, you’re rushing me through my own birthday present?”

“Damn right I am.Get it.”

Manu laughs and darts off into the bedroom.He comes back and prepares them quickly, quickly, and when he practically glides into Justin it’s just incredible.Justin can barely remember what it was like years ago, all that time spent waiting, adjusting, readjusting.They do this so often that all that is gone.There’s no rush anymore.All that hurries them is their own want, their own need.

The table creaks.Manu has sobered up a bit but he’s still drunk enough to have lost his sense of rhythm.He’s thrusting into Justin fast and then slow, fast _fast fast_ and then stopping, and Justin stares at the cracks in the old ceiling and imagines how long they’ve been there.Maybe he’ll find one that makes a heart shape if he stares hard enough.His erection is so neglected that it’s almost painful at this point, and he reaches down to stroke himself.

“Wow,” Manu pants.He really _does_ sound like a different person when he’s drank too much.“You’re just perfect, aren’t you?I love you so much.I _love_ you.”

“Oh, Manu.I love you too.”

“The way you’re touching yourself right now, it—it’s just—you were made for this, you were made to be mine…”

 _Yes._ “Yes, Manu, I was, I was…I was made to be yours… _Manu…_ ” He’s so close.And he’s so middle-aged it hurts, he shouldn't _be_ this close so soon, but that doesn’t matter.His body works differently with Manu.It’s embarrassing and it’s inconvenient and it’s magical.Manu is hot inside him, filling him, and his blue eyes, normally so intensely staring, are closed in concentration. 

“Open your _eyes_ , baby.”

“Can’t…” Manu pants.“I’m trying to wait for you to finish and if I look at you I’ll—”

 _Because I’m beautiful, I’m beautiful, and I’m his._ Justin cries out, it’s dark outside still, it’s the shortest day of the year, so the neighbors are still sleeping and _fuck_ the neighbors, and he squeezes around Manu as Manu pushes deeper into him and he grabs at the edge of the table and manages to gasp “ _Look at me—watch me—for you—_ ” before spilling across his own fist.

Manu gasps out “ _Oh fuck—“_ and it’s all very dramatic and he claws at Justin’s hip and comes inside him because it’s his birthday and Justin is his present, his ultimate gift.

And he pulls out, leaving Justin uncomfortably empty, props his palms on the table around Justin’s hips and stays frozen there for a moment, catching his breath, staring at him.

Justin lies there on the table, his legs still spread and dangling off the edge.He’s open, he’s revealed, and he feels like some kind of offering.An offering to love.


	12. Joyeux anniversaire (II)

It’s the morning of the 26th.Justin’s made it through his birthday unscathed, through holding Manu’s hand in the cold church at Midnight Mass, through Manu’s hands all over him in the taxi on the way home, through Manu pushing him against their door as soon as they’d shut it and wildly sucking him off, through Christmas presents, through birthday cake, through the painful call to his family, through an afternoon in bed so intense they pulled all four corners of the bottom sheet off the mattress entirely, through going out for Christmas dinner, and through back to bed for hours spent nibbling, sucking, teasing, getting teased, till finally sleep was the only thing he could manage.“Happy birthday, Justin,” is the last thing he remembers hearing before passing out.

He’s exhausted, Manu is asleep with an arm wrapped around his waist, and there’s an envelope on the bedside table that hadn’t been there last night.His name is written on it in familiar blue ink.

Manu had the soul of a tortured writer, didn’t he?An _artiste._ He does things like this, he does romance in an old-school way.Justin appreciates it.That’s how he’d proposed to Sophie, after all, so many years ago.

He opens the envelope and unfolds the letter inside.

_Justin, my love,_

_There’s a line or two from Le Petit Prince that runs through my head lately.When I can’t get something out of my mind like that, I know it has the utmost significance._

_I’m sure you know the lines too.On ne voit bien qu’avec le cœur. L’essentiel est invisible pour les yeux._

_Maybe I should write it in English too, for the sake of your Canadian bilingualism.One can only see well with the heart.What is essential is invisible to the eye._

_For years—for almost every single year of my life—I thought Saint-Exupéry had gotten it exactly right, and that seeing with merely the eye led to superficiality and, ultimately, a total lack of meaningful connection with the world.It was only with the heart that one could see the truth and connect to what was real.Or so I believed…_

_Saint-Exupéry was wrong, and so was I. What is essential is to connect the heart and the eye, to see and to feel almost in unison, with the ultimate goal of doing away with that distinction altogether._

_You have it all, which I’ve come to see this year.You, with your raw emotions, your unabashed physicality, your physique from a museum, your hands that never stop holding, your persistent intentions.You are the embodiment of me and Saint-Exupéry’s combined error.For how could I honor your appearance if not for my eyes, and how could I know who you are if not for my heart?_

_How could I love you without both?_

_There was a time when I thought my life only needed you in it intermittently.Now, that seems hard to understand.We’ve grown together this year, like flowers curling up a garden trellis, and which of us is which I couldn’t say, it is that symbiosis that I can’t imagine living without, one supporting the other, the eyes and the heart as one._

_I love you, my Justin, my Polaris, and happy birthday._

_Emmanuel_

Justin finds himself crying.He thinks it’s a beautiful note.It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever written for him and ever will.He’s sure he’ll save it forever.

And he gently removes Manu’s arm from around his waist and picks up their blanket from the floor and wraps it around him.Manu gets cold; he doesn’t have the North coursing through his veins like he does.And he feels that now, something churning inside him, that Northern wind, maybe, that brutalized Ottawa every winter he’d lived there, and he has to move, he’s so fucking full of--

His eyes fall on the letter again.He tucks it away in the drawer and slips on his jogging clothes and _goes,_ he doesn’t even kiss Manu softly goodbye, he just goes, putting his sneakers on by the door, bounding down the stairs, and bursting out into the still morning.


	13. IV

Winter here feels endless.There’s nothing special to do to pass the time.No snowshoeing, no skating on the Rideau Canal.No forts and snowball fights with the kids.He offers to go to Manu’s favorite resort and teach him how to snowboard.Manu says he’d like that, but there are too many memories there.

“So another one?There’s definitely more than one ski resort in France…”

“Maybe,” Manu sighs.“I have a lot to work on this winter,I’ve got to get things in order.But next winter, let’s do it.”

Justin feels a bit of a thrill at the thought of them having a next winter _,_ and a winter after that.But he wants to go snowboarding _now._ He could go without Manu, but the point was to be together.No one wants to go snowboarding alone.

He keeps wondering about Manu’s mental state.Manu has confessed that something about Justin’s ‘pure form’ is inspirational and irresistible to him, and he wants to see it whenever he can.When they’re in for the night, or in all day, Justin spends a lot of his time naked but for his underwear.Manu is getting articles published, and he sits and writes furiously and fully clothed while Justin works on his own blog and fixes things around the apartment.He feels Manu’s eyes on him without even having to turn around.

Some cold nights when Manu’s curled up on the couch reading, Justin will sit down next to him, his laptop on, ready for some Hulu and chill, like that old expression went.His references are getting outdated, but there’s no need to be current anymore.And Manu will absentmindedly trace his fingertips up Justin’s thigh or slip them underneath the waistband of his underwear and run them along the skin there.Or maybe it’s not absentminded at all.He really should know his boyfriend better than he does.

After, well, not that long, his blood will start heading to one particular spot, and he’ll inevitably sigh and shove his laptop off his lap and roughly move Manu’s hand to where he now wants it to be.

“Uh-uh,” Manu will say.“Not now, sweet thing.”

And Justin sighs in frustration.“Then why are you touching me like this, baby?You know how it gets me….you can _feel_ how it gets me.”

“Because you’re sitting here in your underwear, of course.”

“But _why_ do I have to…”Lately, Justin can understand why some people here had complained they didn’t understand their president.“ _Why_ am I sitting in my underwear?”

Manu grins.He’s given this thought.

“Not everyone gets to sit with a trophy.”


	14. Valse sentimentale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUuusqy50yk) around halfway through the chapter if you want, for extra Atmosphere)

“Do you know what I think?” Manu announces over a dinner with the whole group at some restaurant Henri had recommended.“I’ve still got it in me. I’m going to run for the European Council presidency.”

The table bursts into cheers and more wine is poured and Justin plays the role of good boyfriend perfectly.He turns in his seat and hugs Manu and kisses him gently on the lips.

He wonders why Manu didn’t run it by him first.

And suddenly Manu has a purpose again.He has goals and ambition and things to prepare and he’s busy sending emails—his laptop has reappeared—and texting and making calls.It’s amazing to watch him in action, and he still finds time for Justin, so Justin guesses he can’t complain.

Someone throws a party to celebrate.Justin is so tired of these guys.He doesn’t care whose place they’re at.He accepts the glass of champagne he’s offered and doesn’t understand why he’s feeling _more_ uncomfortable instead of _less._ That’s not how social things are supposed to work.Maybe it’s the playlist.It’s nothing like his “Party Jams” playlists he’s put together on Spotify.Everything’s classical.And there’s definitely a time and a place for classical music, but—at a party?Really?What the fuck is _wrong_ with these people? 

“I never learned ballroom dancing,” he mutters to Manu during a lull in the music.“What are we supposed to do, waltz?This playlist sucks.”

“Not everything can be as good as Party Jams IV, I know,” Manu says, smiling, “but some of my favorites are on here.”

Manu is radiant tonight, almost giddy, that photogenic smile that always seems so genuine all over his face.He’s going to win this election.Justin wonders what they’ll say about him then.

Manu goes into the kitchen to find more champagne.Justin follows him; now they have the illusion of privacy.He grabs Manu from behind, grinding his hips into his butt, nuzzling against his neck.Manu gives a little shiver.

“Mmmmm, I’m so happy you’ve got a purpose again, sweet kitten,” Justin says.

“I always did,” Manu says, wiggling out of Justin’s grasp and taking his hand.“And so do you.” 

Justin’s tempted to ask what Manu thinks his purpose is, but a new song comes on in the living room and it distracts him.He can’t place it, but it’s beautiful and sad.

“It’s _Valse sentimentale_ ,” Manu says, noticing his expression, because of course Manu understands his expressions.“Tchaikovsky.”

Of course Manu knows this.Of course he does.And Justin picks him up and spins him around, staggering toward the countertop. “I love you, Manu, baby,” he says against Manu’s ear.He places him down on the counter, leaning him against the fridge.He quickly undoes Manu’s pants and wiggles his hand down the front.

“We’re really doing this here?” Manu asks, weakly.

“You like it like this, you little showoff.”Justin begins to jerk him off, first with two fingers, then using his fist as Manu gets fully hard.He pinches the growing softness of Manu’s stomach with his other hand, curiously.So much wine and sitting and food and…

“Do I?I’m not sure if I ever said,” Manu says with a little smile, and pushes the waistband of his boxers down so Justin’s hand has more room.“And if someone were to walk in?”

“Wouldn’t matter.Everyone loves you. Everyone wants you. Your brain...”

“Justin.” Manu closes his eyes and runs his fingers up Justin’s arm. “Shut up, just let me enjoy you...”

Justin doesn’t feel like listening to Manu, for once. “And I’m pretty, right? I’m pretty. I’m beautiful. I belong in a museum.That’s _my_ job.”This _Valse sentimentale_ is so fucking sad-sounding that he doesn’t understand how someone could put it on a playlist.The sound is so rich and it _moves._ It’s sweeping him away. 

“Don’t try to have a serious conversation with me, Justin, not now!”

“I’m Emmanuel Macron’s trophy boyfriend.I get it...”

“Justin...shut up…” Manu pants.He’s rocking into Justin’s fist, somehow in time with the music.“You’re so much more—you—don’t make me say— you keep me—I can’t fucking _think_ with you doing this—“

“Then don’t,” Justin says.He moves his fist faster, knowing exactly the right speed, the right pressure.It’s second nature by this point, basically like he’s touching himself.Manu hums, his eyes blinking wildly, and he loses the rhythm of the song as he begins grabbing at the countertop for support.Justin traces his jawline, his nose, his pretty pink lips.People are laughing in the living room, but _Valse sentimentale_ swallows it all up.Manu is sighing his name, grabbing his arm. 

“Come, Emmanuel.” He loves how Manu’s full name slides off his tongue. Calling him that, like this is an intense professional commitment, a serious thing. This is what they will call him on the news, in _The Economist_ and _Le Monde_ and the fucking _Globe and Mail_. What they will call him when he’s European Council President and Justin is God knows what.“Come on, Emmanuel…come for your trophy, sweet kitten.”

Manu smacks his hand over Justin’s mouth more violently than Justin would ever expect. Justin sticks out his tongue to suck his fingers.He bites them, and Manu’s back arches away from the refrigerator and he moans softly underneath all the sad Tchaikovsky.Those stringed instruments are so loud and so sad but Justin hears Manu underneath, because of course he does; he’s always listening for Manu.Manu is his.Manu is his Manu is his—

Manu never seems to last as long as he did back in their summit hotel rooms.He’s let go.He doesn’t hold back anymore.He soaks Justin’s hand and his boxers and his blue pants. 

A new song has come on.

Manu’s blue eyes are wild, his mouth hanging open, panting.His smile is satisfied when he smiles at Justin, and he’s still smiling as he looks down at his pants.

“Well, um…this isn’t going to be the most comfortable…”

“You’ll remember all night,” Justin whispers.“You’re _mine_.”

“What makes you think I forgot?”

Something makes Justin comfortable enough to nip at Manu’s lip.His Manu, who likes a bit of pain, moans against his mouth and twitches against the refrigerator.

“You're mine, and I want to do it again.” Justin feels as wild as the Canadian north.He fumbles with the buttons of Manu’s shirt and reaches inside to touch his little nipples.

“Sweet thing, no.”Manu moves his hands away and Justin lets him. _Valse sentimentale_ is over.The whole weird moment has passed, and he feels emotionally winded, if that concept were possible.“It’s too much, and I was just supposed to be in here getting more champagne.”

“Well…”

“I don’t _actually_ want someone to walk in on us, I hope you know that.”

Justin shrugs as Manu zips his pants back up.His mind is chewing on something he’d just said out loud. _Emmanuel Macron’s trophy boyfriend._

Manu remembers to take a bottle of champagne with him as he and Justin leave the kitchen hand in hand.

His sweet kitten has to readjust his pants before he sits down. _Mine, right?_ “Ummm, where were we?Hey…can you play _Valse sentimentale_ again?Justin and I love it.”


	15. Trophy Boyfriend (II)

He’s in the best shape of his life.It’s been a while since he’s gotten a haircut; it’s getting wavier, curling around his ears, and it just makes him look even younger. He’s starting to favor tighter clothes. Lately when people look at him on the street it isn’t always with derision.

He’s always known he can use his looks to his advantage, but for the first time he really, truly believes it when he hears it.

He’s beautiful.

He really is, really must be, a trophy. The most golden, the most special, the biggest accomplishment of them all. He’s the one that gets put at the front of the shelf and polished and shined while the others collect dust in the back.

He tries to think of other purposes a trophy can have, and can’t come up with anything.


	16. Just come home (II)

_Just come home, Dad.Can you come home?_ They’ve even coached the youngest this time.No more Minecraft, no more Yoda.They mean it.

“Can I talk to Mom?”

_She’s out.But Dad, she thinks you should come home too, like back to Montreal, and you can live near us.She says we can try to be normal._

_Like a regular divorced family and not a weird one._

“Well…there’s a lot I would have to work out, but—”

_So just work it out already, Dad._

“When will Mom be back?”

_I don’t know. But we can tell her to text you._

“Okay. Don’t forget to tell her, kiddos, okay? It’s important.”

They let the youngest have the last word. _We won’t, Dad._


	17. Forward

His bank account balance has gone down.Still, a one-way ticket to Montreal isn’t too bad. It’ll be his luggage that will make things more expensive. All the books will weigh a ton. Maybe he’ll leave some here for Manu. Manu will like that.

“We’ll still talk,” he says to Manu the evening he buys the ticket. He can barely look into those blue eyes. He feels like all he’s seen this past year is those blue eyes.“That doesn’t have to change. I’ll still love you every day, every second.”

“Of course,” Manu says.

“I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you, Manu. It’s just—my kids, I—“

“Of course,” Manu says again. “We made a pretty big life change. We were led by strong feelings. We did our best under the circumstances.”

“We’ve got these next two weeks. We can make them the best two weeks of our lives. And then...once I’m back together with my kids and we’ve got it sorted out...you and I can...we’ll figure it out.” How he’ll _figure it out_ with three kids, an ex-wife, and a potential President of the European Council, he isn’t really sure, but what else could he say?

“Mhmmm. Sounds good, Justin.” Manu squeezes his hand. “It’s a plan.”

There’s something about his body language.

“Let’s go out for dinner tonight,” Manu continues. “Let’s celebrate us, celebrate us moving our lives forward.En Marche…right?”He laughs sharply and it hurts.

“I like that,” Justin says.

“I’ll go look up someplace new to eat, okay?” 

He leaves the room before Justin can say anything else.

Justin tidies up the bedroom while waiting for Manu to ask him to come check out the options.But it seems to be taking too long, so he goes out into the living room to look for him and stops short in the doorway.

Manu is slumped over his desk, draped on top of all his books and papers.His back is shaking. He’s crying, softly, and it’s the worst sound Justin has ever heard.

Justin has never, never, never, never, _never_ —

never seen him cry.

He backs as silently as possible out of the room.It goes against his very nature to leave Manu alone to cry.But what could he say?It’s his fault. _Désolé, Manu._ It’s all his fault. 


	18. CDG

Flight AF 344, with nonstop service to Montreal and the airport named after Dad, is on time.Manu is holding tightly to his wrist, wordless.His eyes are speaking for him, and Justin doesn’t want to think about it.

“Think of how many goodbyes we used to say,” Manu finally says.“It wasn’t too long ago that we were brave.”

“I—uhhh.Yeah.I’m…I have so many bags.Let me just drop them off at the check-in and then we can—“

“Please, Justin.”Manu doesn't beg often.“Please.”

He looks at the board.Flight AF 344, with nonstop service to Montreal and the airport named after Dad, is still on time.He will never be anything but Canadian, even if he married Manu and got French citizenship.He loves his country where both sides of his family took root so long ago.He loves his kids desperately; a life without them is never one he’d imagined.Sophie might never want to reconcile, but he can get by on his own, can’t he?And the people—his people—might hate him, mock him, curse him in the street, scream things outside his home, but the country won’t, not its history,its future, the mountains and lakes out west, the frozen-over rivers perfect for skating on—

He looks at Manu.He’s standing there with a stoic face but his lips are still mouthing the words. _S’il te plait, Justin, s’il te plait…_

_please._

If his boarding pass were paper it would be better, but climate change is always on his mind and so he pulls out his phone.Holding it out for Manu to see, he opens his Apple Wallet and shows him.He shows him deleting his boarding pass.Some lucky standby flyer will get his seat to Pierre Elliott Trudeau Airport.

He pulls Manu into his arms.

He is crying, and his tears are hot running down his face, smearing against Manu’s cheeks. It will take him a while to stop this kind of crying.Manu will take him home and calm him down, curling his small body up on his lap, reading him poetry.Manu will take him to bed and tell him like he always does that he is beautiful, the most beautiful, enough to make someone believe in a higher power.He will grow his hair longer for Manu and be golden for him, be forever by the side of the President of the European Council if that’s how life goes, bring him pride every time, every place, every day.

“I’m sorry, Manu,” he sobs in the middle of the clamor of tourists in Charles de Gaulle.“How could I have thought I could leave you?I could never leave you. I’m sorry.”He wraps his arms tighter around Manu, frantically.Manu’s calm, strong, still-presidential hands cling to his shirt.“I’m so sorry.”


	19. Trophy Boyfriend (III)

Manu’s landed an interview to discuss his Presidential ambitions.They don’t shower together.Justin wants to suggest it, but it really is a pretty clingy thing to do.

He makes Manu coffee instead, and has a hot mug of it ready to hand him when he steps into the kitchen.He’s got on a blue shirt that goes well with his eyes, and a nice suit, though he doesn’t have a tie on.He’s professional, but not stiff, not stressed.The past is the present again.

Justin stops thinking about the coffee.He kisses Manu on the head and sniffs his clean, damp, fluffy hair. “You’re going to kill it,” he says, slipping his arms around Manu’s waist and swaying back and forth with him.

“Do you think so?”

“I know it, baby. Everything you do. Everything you touch...it turns to gold eventually.”

He tickles Manu under the chin so Manu can lift his head for a kiss.

“Let me see you one last time before you head out.”

He looks at Manu and the old determination that’s back in his blue eyes, and the slight grey hairs coming in at the sides of his head, and the teensy roll of chunk straining just a little bit against his beltline, and something just isn’t quite right.

He unbuttons one button on Manu’s blue shirt and even though his hands are shaking from emotion, his smile comes easily.

“You’re beautiful, Manu,” he says.

And he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! Let me know what you think, if you haven't already ;)
> 
> And as always, follow me on insta @emmanuyell


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